Page 139

“Why didn’t you say anything like that before?” Ty’s hands were fluttering at his sides, like white birds in the shadows. “Why did you wait to say it to Magnus?”

“Because we promised not to talk about any of this stuff!” Kit snapped, his patience, already worn thin with exhaustion and shock, starting to fray. Didn’t Ty realize they couldn’t go on as they were, pretending they had never had a past? “And the more we didn’t talk about it, the more it seemed like we were becoming…friends again. And I didn’t want to give that up.”

“Friends?” Ty echoed incredulously. “Do you really—” He broke off and turned away; when he turned back, his pale skin was splotched red with anger. “It’s just like last time, isn’t it? You went along with my plan when I was trying to raise Livvy, you never said it bothered you, you even helped me deal with Ragnor; you helped me get back into the Shadow Market—and then when it came down to the last final minute you abandoned me. You suddenly begged me not to do it, not to try to get Livvy back, but I’m not like you, I can’t just change tracks like that, and I don’t know how you didn’t understand—”

“I helped you when you were trying to raise Livvy because you were falling to pieces—”

“Stop!” Ty cut Kit off; he was shaking with anger. “I didn’t need you to save me or help me. I didn’t want an assistant. I wanted you to love me.”

Kit had never thought he’d hear the word love from Ty, not directed at him. But he couldn’t be happy about it. The word wanted, past tense, chilled his soul. “Ty, I—”

“And I don’t care how much you disapprove,” Ty said. “I am not going to let you kill my sister.”

Kit felt sick to his stomach, the way he had for all the years he and Ty hadn’t spoken. He wanted to explain himself, but how could he do that without hurting Ty even more?

A scream cut through the night like a blade. High, sharp, panicked. Kit whipped around, and so did Ty.

“That’s Livvy,” Ty said. “She’s afraid. She’s warning us—”

He went still. And so did Kit. They were both staring at the end of the road, which was blocked by four faeries—three men and a woman—on horseback.

They were motionless. And in that frozen moment, Kit saw them as he hadn’t seen them when they were riding, saw that the changes in them were deeper than he’d realized.

The Riders of Mannan. They were no longer beautiful as they had been, but had become far more terrifying.

The first was Eochaid; his cloak had clearly been pure white once, but was torn and dirty now. His horse was whiter than paper, with scarlet eyes, and his hair streamed long and white, like a torn flag of surrender.

There was Delan, with his missing hand, and his cloak and horse were a dark red, like drying blood. His face was slashed with brutal scars and a scarlet-hilted sword was strapped to his back.

The third sat on a horse that was black, the sort of black that seemed to absorb light and give nothing back. This was Karn, and a bronze pin in the shape of balanced scales held the shreds of his cloak together at his throat.

The last was Ethna, wrapped in a pallid, grayish cloak, and the horse she sat was almost the same color, a sickly gray like the complexion of a dying man. Her eyes were entirely white save for small black pupils in the center of each.

Kit felt a stab of relief that Fal, who had murdered his mother, was not among them. Then his mind flashed to the book in Amsterdam, what felt like a lifetime ago. An image of four horsemen. Black, white, red, and gray.

And behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

“Magnus,” Kit gasped, and turned to look for the warlock. But Magnus was gone. The whole street was empty, abandoned, as if they had found themselves in a deserted city.

Kit felt punched in the stomach. His heart was racing, and the blood in his veins felt like it had turned to ice. Magnus had left them, or more likely, the Riders had done something to him. This can’t be happening, Kit thought. This must be a nightmare. Wake up. WAKE UP. He glanced at Ty, who looked as sick as Kit felt but was already reaching for his seraph blade.

Kit straightened up. “What did you do to Magnus?” he shouted, as if he were calling across a great distance.

“Nothing. No doubt he fled.” The red Rider, Delan, sneered. “You are losing all your allies, Shadowhunters. Though you must not besmirch the blue fortune teller’s memory. It took a very long time to pry your secrets from her. She fought bravely before she died.”

Hyacinth. Kit felt a horrible ache in his chest. For a moment he felt dizzy, his vision blurring. He’d known Hyacinth for most of his life. He’d lost so much already, and now she was gone, and Magnus was missing. Though Kit did not believe for a moment that he’d run away.

“They shouldn’t be here.” Ty’s voice was less than a whisper. “The potion should still be working.”

“I know,” Kit murmured. “I don’t understand it—”

Ethna laughed. Kit hadn’t seen the Riders move, but they were closer now, close enough for Kit to see their skin stretched tightly over the bones beneath. And it was clear they could hear very well.

“Little Heir,” Ethna purred. “There is no mystery here. A great burst of Faerie power alerted us to your presence, superseding any silly potion.” She looked at him curiously. “Such a powerful royal child you are, and so dangerous in your ignorance. What did you do?”

Kit’s mind raced. He had undone Magnus’s spell, but surely that couldn’t be it. He had undone magic before, and it had not called the Riders. He had undone the Riders’ own magic on the Imperishable Fields, but they seemed to think this was something different…which meant it could only be one thing, Kit thought, but what if he was wrong?

He exchanged a glance with Ty and, through his panic, felt a faint sliver of relief. Ty knew, just as he did. Ty knew what had brought the Riders.